Come Dine With Sherlock and John
by Emmylou
Summary: Based on a prompt to have John as a contestant on the Channel 4 show Come Dine With Me. Chaos ensues. More plot than you would imagine. Hinted John/Sherlock. FINISHED.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Come Dine With Sherlock and John

**Summary: **Based on a prompt to have John as a contestant on the Channel 4 show Come Dine With Me. Chaos ensues.

**Parings: **Hinted Sherlock/John.

**Disclaimer:** I own neither show.

**A/N**: I have NO IDEA how CDWM produces their show. In fact this is only being written because I've always wanted to write a Come Dine With Me/Midsomer Murders story. Based on a prompt from kinkmeme.

_This prompt is based around the reality show Come Dine With Me. For those who've never watched it, basically 4 or 5 strangers go to each other's houses for a dinner party over a week, snoop around, criticise their cooking skills, and then score their effort. The winner gets £1000. It's narrated (very snarkily) by Dave Lamb which is where the comedy comes from. There should be some episodes on youtube. _

_...And for the record I don't think even John and Sherlock's efforts could be as bad as the lady who brought her pet snake out only for it to poo on the table. Or the one who went to bed in-between courses and left her guests to cook themselves. _

* * *

John had always assumed that Sherlock hated all telly with a passion, but he quickly realised that this was not true. Sherlock did indeed detest scripted television (he claimed because it was 'too easy to work out' but John suspected it was more to do with the fact Sherlock got things wrong too often - on TV the colour of a suspect's lipstick was no indicator of their ability to commit murder and so Sherlock had to guess the answers like everybody else.)

However John soon became used to finding a bored Sherlock flipping through reality TV programmes and pronouncing his verdict on the participants. He could tell when they were lying, when they were being manipulative, and- best of all- when they were being manipulated by the judges and production team.

"She's going out tonight," he would announce after a merely 30 seconds of Strictly Come Dancing. "You see the unflattering dress they've put her in? And they've kept the camera on her for two seconds longer than everyone else. Makes her look more desperate than she is."

Then, satisfied, he'd flip the TV off and pretend he had no clue what John was talking about when John mentioned the correctly predicted result the next day.

"I bet you could win any single reality show you entered," said John idly on one such morning. "You on Big Brother - that would be a laugh. You'd make a fortune in winnings though; maybe you should go in for it."

"Of course I'd win," said Sherlock absently. "I'd just never lower myself to taking part."

"Yeah well," said John, "that can be our back-up plan for when we can't afford the gas bill."

* * *

___Dear John,_

_Thank you for applying for the London episode of Come Dine With Me. We have read your questionnaire results and your menu choices with much interest and would like to offer you a place in the competition. Please find your contract and a copy of the rules enclosed._

_Kind Regards__  
__Sheila Markdown __  
__Channel 4_

_

* * *

_

"You did WHAT?"

"You suggested using my skills to win reality shows for material gain. Come Dine With Me is, statistically, by far the easiest to win. The menu I've picked is exceptional. I've texted Angelo already and he'll teach you how to make it in advance."

"I-I-" for a moment John was too shocked to speak. "Why me?"

Sherlock looked at John as though he'd gone mad (and really, John wasn't so sure himself.)

"Well obviously *I* couldn't go on it. Can you imagine me having to sit and make conversation with those dullards for five whole nights?"

* * *

Over the next month Sherlock planned John's triumph whenever he hadn't anything more pressing to entertain his overactive mind. John got used to Sherlock throwing his door open in the middle of the night and announcing "Don't mention being an army doctor until someone asks you – it'll make you seem brave yet modest," or "make sure you've got lots of pictures of your family around the place."

John, half asleep still, grew used to nodding and rolling over. He did this safe in the knowledge that the contract he'd been sent was still unsigned in his sock-drawer – never to see the light of day again.

"We're going to Angelo's" Sherlock announced without warning a week later. "You'll need to practice the recipe at least four times before the night. It needs to be especially memorable – we've been dealt a blow by getting the first night."

John jumped away from where Sherlock was hurrying him into his coat. "What? How do you know we've got the first night?"

"Because I opened the letter from them this morning. It's bad because statistically the first night is the lowest rated night and..."

"But I haven't sent the contract off yet!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes you did. Your signature is pathetically easy to forge."

* * *

"I am NOT coming out as gay on national television."

Sherlock frowned. "Why not?"

John paused, unable to find the words to answer such an obvious question. "Because I'm not gay! And because even if I was, it would be one hell of a way for everyone I know to find out."

"Oh we'd tell them in advance it was just an act. It's vital everyone thinks you're gay – any women will respect your sensitivity, any gay men will appreciate the story of you being brave enough to announce yourself as a gay military doctor on television, and any homophobes will give you extra marks because they'll be over-conscious as being perceived as homophobic on television. Besides, gay men are statistically the most successful contestants..."

"Oh I'll just put an announcement on my blog shall I?" said John sarcastically. "'Pretending to be gay with Sherlock for an afternoon cookery programme. Don't worry – it's just an act!'"

Sherlock turned back to his experiment as though the matter were settled. "Good idea. -Though I highly doubt they'll believe you."

* * *

Please let me know what you think.

EDIT: Changed the formatting, since it got screwed up in uploading. There are now scene breaks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Come Dine With Sherlock and John

**Summary:** Based on a prompt to have John as a contestant on the Channel 4 show Come Dine With Me. Chaos ensues.  
**  
****Warnings:** Crack (but plot-filled crack).

**Parings:** Hinted Sherlock/John. But you can ignore it if you want.

**Disclaimer: **I own neither show.  
**  
****A/N:** Thanks for the fab reviews! You may want to go and re-read the first chapter because, unknown to me, the format got screwed in uploading and so I've altered it to make the scene breaks clearer. You may also be pleased to know that this fic is already complete, so it will definitely be finished.

* * *

And so it was that John woke up at the ungodly hour of four in the morning on the first day of the week. His head had been crammed full of cookery tips from Angelo and personality tips from Sherlock (as though he needed personality tips from *Sherlock* of all people.)

He dressed and came down to breakfast to find that Sherlock had cooked (at least, left cereal and milk out which was as close as he ever came to cooking.) He was even more surprised to see both Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson standing in the kitchen involved in what could only be described as a squabble.

"Absolutely not!"

"Oh Sherlock please... I've told my sister already."

"You cannot answer the door to the guests Mrs. Hudson," said Sherlock.

"Why can't she?" yawned John as he leaned against the counter and dug his spoon into his cereal.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at him. "Do you really want your guests' first impression of you to be that you're the sort of poncy idiot who employs someone to open the door?"

John winced. "Good point...tell you what though Mrs. Hudson, I'll pretend to break a whisk and get you to bring me a replacement."

Mrs. Hudson hugged him. "Oh you are a good boy! Now eat up! They'll be here soon."

She hurried out leaving John gaping after her. "It's not even six yet!"

"Yes but they've got to brief you, and follow you about for the day, and get you to do the bit where you talk about yourself in an upmarket coffee shop and/or local beauty spot, then you've got to buy ingredients, and then cook..."

John groaned. The day stretched out in front of him horrendously. And not just today; the next five days.

"There has got to be easier ways of making a thousand pounds."

"Oh this isn't about the money." Sherlock waved his spoon as he chewed his cornflakes, "This is about me proving I can make you win. Incidentally – change into something smarter before the crew arrives. There's casual and then there's *casual*."

* * *

The crew, when it arrived at 6.30, consisted of five people. Two cameramen brushed past first and begun setting up lighting and arranging wires for the dinner party that night. A sound man followed them looking equally surly.

The final two were women, Petra the director, and Morgan the producer. Both smiled at him, Petra with a fixed 'I've done this a million times before smile' and Morgan with the bright bubbles of a Redcoat and the sort of grin that suggested everything she said had a verbal equivalent of '!1!' after it.

"Excited?" she beamed. "You're going to have such fun!"

He nodded mutely and led them upstairs to the flat (which Morgan said was "gorgeous!1!")

He invited them to sit down and tried to ignore the men moving efficiently about the flat unplugging sockets to make room for their leads. He only thanked god Sherlock had got Mrs. Hudson to tidy the place up and they'd removed the more revolting experiments.

* * *

They began going over schedules, and rules, and legalities with him. Or at least Petra did. Morgan seemed to be in charge of finding out about his personality (or at least, forcing him into the stereotype the show wanted to portray him as). He answered questions as Sherlock had briefed him to and otherwise let his mind wander.

Petra was horsey faced, and bore a passing resemblance to Sarah-Jessica Parker. Her curly hair was cut in an odd way that gave her head a triangular shape. John was no Sherlock Holmes, but even he could read a stalled media career in her resigned face.

Morgan had thick blonde hair that she flipped as though demonstrating for a shampoo advert and she was dressed as he would have imagined a more fashion-conscious film student to look. She was, he thought, very pretty and he gave her a smile.

As if sensing this act of heterosexuality, Sherlock strode into the room and gave a start that, if John hadn't laid the responsibility for this whole nightmare at Sherlock's feet, would have led him to believe that he had stumbled across a film crew in his flat by complete accident.

"Hiii!" he said, with a surprised smile. "You're the film crew right? How exciting!"

Oh god, he was doing his 'non-stereotypical-but-clearly-a-screaming-queen' act. Personally John felt he sounded like a camp version of Robert Webb.

"Hi," said Petra warily. Clearly she was used to family interrupting her briefs. "Uh, you are...?"

"Sherlock, so nice to meet you. I'm John's partner." He squeezed John's shoulder and leaned down to murmur into John's ear, clearly wanting to be overheard; "I've just tidied up our bedroom 'kay? Don't want those nosy guests stumbling across all our secrets."

John flushed at the feeling of hot breath across his neck and the playful tone of voice.

"Yes, well..." said Petra in a dismissive tone. "We have rather a lot to be getting on with."

"Oh sorry!" he trilled. He actually goddamn trilled. "I'll get out of your hair..." he flicked a dismissive glance over Petra's odd haircut.

Then with a kiss to John's cheek and a squeeze of his thigh that John would have found indecent from anyone- of any sex- in polite company, Sherlock turned to be on his way.

"I'll be back at six, yah?" he called to John as he left.

"Six?" asked Morgan questioningly.

"Oh yah," he said, "didn't John tell you? I'm the entertainment tonight – a mentalist act."

* * *

Seven hours later John was praying for a crime spree. Not just any crime spree, but one so baffling, so plain *nuts*, that Sherlock's mind would be unable to resist and he would call off this charade in favour of putting their lives in mortal danger.

Anything would do, he thought as he attempted to whisk eggs with a camera up in his face. Murders in which the victims were all dressed as clowns. A ballerina found dead in the fountains in Trafalgar square. The entire cast of Hairspray going missing.

*Anything*.

"So where did you get the recipe?" chirped Morgan from the stool she was perched on behind camera.

"Ah, a friend of my partner passed the recipe on to me," John recited Sherlock's line from memory. He saw a frown cross Morgan's face at his lack of chirpy banter.

It turned out that Morgan's job basically entailed what she called 'making sure your personality comes across on camera'. John translated that to mean 'making sure you look like a complete idiot on camera so Dave Lamb can make amusing comments later on.'

So far he'd resisted making any stupid mistakes while cooking – besides rather theatrically losing his whisk and needing to call for a replacement from his landlady. Who turned up with newly styled hair and wearing what looked like every piece of costume jewellery in London.

But mostly he was dreading this evening when he would have to socialise with four complete strangers in front of a camera crew and the cameras which made John feel like he was standing near a black hole.

And to make matters worse, Sherlock was going to be there.

* * *

After the obligatory freshen-up and change John was told to wait while the camera crew prepared for the first arrival. After what seemed forever Petra nodded for him to go and welcome the first guest.

"Hi..." he said cautiously as he opened the front door.

"Oh hello!"

There was a young woman on the doorstep and for a few seconds he was too busy taking her coat and graciously accepting the obscenely large bunch of flowers he'd been presented with to pay much attention to her.

"I'm John," he said.

"Sarah," she replied with a friendly smile. She had an educated voice and a manner that put John firmly in mind of the sort of housewife who bought organic food, cooked on an Aga, and drove a range-rover. She had bushy brown hair barely restrained in a simple clip. Though she couldn't have been more than twenty-four, she was wearing the severe dress and pearls of a woman twenty years older, and the arrogant expression of someone several places up the social ladder from him.

He led her upstairs, poured her drink, and attempted to make polite conversation. This was halted when the next person arrived and he left to greet guest number two.

This time a man was on the doorstep. He was in his late twenties, wore a leather jacket, and had floppy, sensitive hair that deserved its own Sunday night drama role.

"I'm Danny," he said, giving John a firm handshake and thrusting a mid-priced bottle of white at him.

Upstairs the three chatted for a few moments, long enough to find out that Sarah was a vet and Danny a physical therapist. He (as instructed) brushed off inquiries into his own career and was again forced to leave to go back downstairs to open the door.

"Hi!" said the next man on being invited inside. He was presented with a bottle of red and a second handshake. This man was of Asian descent and had primped to within an inch of his life. His glossy black hair was in a long high ponytail and his teeth sparkled unnaturally white. He wore a skin tight white vest-top with a low neck that showed off the tattoos on his chest.

"I'm Jordan," he said, half to the camera and half to John. "Like the glamour model – only better looking!"

John attempted to laugh, and had barely got Jordan his drink when he was sent to greet the final member of the group.

"Hi!" said the final guest. "Wait a minute? John?"

John's smile froze. "Lolli?"

* * *

Please let me know how you're finding this. More will be up tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Come Dine With Sherlock and John

**Summary: **Based on a prompt to have John as a contestant on the Channel 4 show Come Dine With Me. Chaos ensues.  
**  
****Warnings:** Crack (but plot-filled crack).

**Parings: **Hinted Sherlock/John. But you can ignore it if you want.

**Disclaimer:** I own neither show.  
**  
****A/N:** Thanks for all the fab reviews. We're now moving towards *gasp* actual plot. Also I've just posted a one-shot story for this fandon called Secrets of Molly. Feel free to check it out if you are liking this.

* * *

John's smile froze. "Lolli?"

"John!" squealed Lolli. She threw her arms around him like a long lost sister (which wasn't so far off the mark.) "Oh my gawd!"

The cameramen, recognising this recognition, frantically summoned Petra who came down the stairs looking ill-humoured.

"You know each other?" she asked suspiciously, as though they'd planned it all along.

"Gawd yeah!" said Lolli. "I went out with John's sister for two years in Uni."

John nodded grimly. There was nothing like the memory of finding your (as far as you'd known, straight) sister and Lolli in bed together to make an awkward situation even more cripplingly awkward.

"It's been what, ten years?" she added.

"'Bout that."

Lolli looked, astonishingly, exactly the same as John remembered. He'd assumed she would grow out of it, but here she was with waist length burgundy hair in two plaits, a red 1950s dress, black tights, stilettos, and a spiky dog-collar.

Petra reeled off a load of guidelines from the documents they'd signed. "Contestants can't have connections outside of the game," she said severely. "It's against policy."

"But-" Lolli pouted, "we don't. It was an accident. Sheer dumb luck."

"We can pretend we don't know each other if you like," John suggested.

Petra scowled, and glanced back upstairs as though working out how difficult it would be to disband the episode production at this late stage.

"Fine," she sighed. "We'll reshoot the entrance scene – but if anyone gets wind of this the whole thing will be called off."

* * *

It was almost a relief when John was at last able to return to the kitchen and begin prepping the fiendishly difficult starter. It didn't help that although Sherlock neither cooked nor socialised, he was both a backseat chef and host. In the space of ten minutes John had received fifteen texts reminding him to smile, what conversation to bring up, what to tell them about himself, and _for god's sake – don't burn the tartlets_.

"So, what did you graduate in?" asked Sarah as she examined the graduation photograph Sherlock had artfully left out (where he had found it John had no idea.)

"Uh, medicine," said John as he pulled the plates out of the oven. "I'm a doctor."

He turned to refresh their drinks, feeling better now that Jordan and Lolli were gone from the room. They were in the bedroom, shooting the 'snooping around the house' scenes. This only comforted him until he remembered that Sherlock had been the last person in that room and who knew what things he'd left in there to make them look like an authentic couple.

"So you're a GP then?" asked Danny.

"No," John said, "I was an army Doctor. I've not been back long."

Sarah looked interested for the first time, apparently realising that acting snobbish to a heroic doctor would lessen her popularity both in the game and to the public.

"You finished your tour then?" she asked.

"Uh, no, I was injured in the line of duty."

He could hear Sherlock's voice in his head screaming at him to modestly mention the gunshot wound – but flaunting his traumatic injury on camera was something he wasn't going to stoop to. He hastily returned to dishing up.

* * *

In the bedroom the two members of the group who would be painted as 'flamboyant' were doing their snooping act for the camera.

Neither were as interested as they were making out to be – Jordan because he wasn't that interested in his fellow contestants, and Lolli because she already knew John. They didn't know how fortunate they were that Sherlock had arranged the room – because they would almost certainly have died of boredom in the Spartan room otherwise.

"This must be the boyfriend," said Jordan peering at a photograph of Sherlock and John.

"Boyfriend?" squeaked Lolli rushing to peer at the photo. "I didn't think he was gay!"

Jordan flicked his eyes nervously at the camera, not wanting to appear either gay or homophobic. "Must be. Two lots of clothes in here. His guy wears a lot of suits."

"Yeah," said Lolli, sounding amazed but not wanting to give the game away. "Cute couple."

"Oh man!" called Jordan. He moved to the dresser where Sherlock had left a large amount of weapons. The cameramen zoomed in as Jordan picked up a large ornate knife. "Kinky!"

"Who has these in the bedroom?" whistled Lolli as she took the knife from him and inspected it. She made an experimental stabbing motion. "Woah."

"There're knuckle-dusters too," snorted Jordan. "Man, this guy has hidden depths..."

* * *

Finally the first course was ready and the guests sat down to eat with over-enthusiastic enjoyment. John didn't particularly care whether they liked his food (other than for financial gain) and so he accepted their polite comments without bothering to analyse them further.

The conversation turned personal, he answered questions about Afghanistan as vaguely as possible, and then spent a humiliating few minutes being asked about the assortment of weaponry in the bedroom. Not to mention the skull which Sherlock had promised to hide and had in fact left in the bathroom.

It was official, he was going to spent the rest of his life known as Sherlock Holmes boyfriend with the death kink.

It didn't help that Lolli was finishing for information about his relationship – or at least attempting to without letting anyone know she'd known him when he was heterosexual (he still was, he reminded himself hastily.)

After the starter he stood to prepare the main course, and the guests took turns to sit in the 'spare bedroom' and give their opinions on the starter. He was just arranging the beef on the plates (as best he could with a camera and sweaty cameraman four inches from his face) when the door open and Sherlock strolled in.

* * *

"Sherlock!"

John felt mixed emotions upon seeing his flatmate come 'boyfriend'. Relief at the presence of someone he knew, joy at being around someone who didn't care about culinary skills, and deep hatred at being in the same room as the lunatic who had signed him up for this in the first place. Relief won out and he didn't have to work very hard to fake his welcoming expression.

"I'm here for the entertainment section," he said cheerily. "Are they ready?"

John doubted very much whether anyone could be ready for entertainment provided by Sherlock, but he still had a mountain of vegetables to prepare, so he led Sherlock over to the guests. It was only as he turned his back to carry on cooking that it finally fully sank in that Sherlock would be alone with these people. Entertaining them.

He froze and strained to hear what Sherlock was saying.

"-your between-course entertainment for tonight...I do a mentalist act. John thought it would be an excellent way for people to get to know each other."

Oh did I, thought John.

"Like Derren Brown?" said Danny.

John winced. If Sherlock didn't already have a lifetime's supply of arch-enemies John was sure Derren Brown would have been on the list. Nothing sent his flatmate ape more than being compared to Derren Brown.

"Kind of. Only much better. MUCH." Sherlock's soft-voiced act wobbled slightly and John knew how much allowing the comparison was costing his friend. He must really want to win this thing.

Surprisingly, the act went better than expected. Though John was only listening while he worked, he almost wished he was in there enjoying it. Sherlock's knowledge of the guests was astonishing, even though John was used to it.

"Oh my god! How did you know I have two brothers called Evan and Chris?" said Sarah.

"You don't have any pets though," said Sherlock thoughtfully. "How very unusual for a vet."

Sarah gasped at this revelation. "No way! That's amaaazing."

He was no less astounding towards the others. He correctly gathered that Jordan had bought his mother a make-over session for her birthday, that Lolli was planning to buy a house with her girlfriend, and that Danny's favourite holiday of all time was the week he had spent in Greece with his first girlfriend. This performance won his a round of applause, and because Sherlock couldn't resist showing off he took a few moments to delight the guests with facts about the crew (Petra had worked as a secretary for five years, Morgan had recently been given a Porche by her boyfriend, and the surliest of the cameramen collected Star Wars memorabilia.)

Thankfully John was ready to serve up before Sherlock stopped at mere fun facts about the group – who knew what he might blurt out if he got carried away (having his friend announce the groups darkest secrets on national television might seriously damage his chances of winning and both their chances of making it through the night alive.)

If only, John thought later, he'd know how close to the mark that final thought was.

* * *

Comments are love!


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Come Dine With Sherlock and John

Summary: Based on a prompt to have John as a contestant on the Channel 4 show Come Dine With Me. Chaos ensues.  
**  
**Warnings: Crack (but plot-filled crack).

Parings: Hinted Sherlock/John. But you can ignore it if you want.  
**  
**Disclaimer: I own neither show.  
**  
**A/N: Thanks for the lovely reviews so far!

* * *

Eventually the dinner was over with and for the first time John was relaxing in the knowledge that the hard work was nearly over and done with. Or at least, the only hard work that remained would involve eating four extravagant dinners, which was the kind of hard work John decided he needed more of in his life.

All that was left was to dish up dessert and then the week would begin to be, if not fun, at least less miserable than it had been so far. He moved around the cameraman and camera to take his strawberries out of the fridge.

Sherlock, after his little act, was gone. He had apparently hidden his experiments in the kitchen of the long-suffering Mrs. Hudson and he planned to spend the rest of the evening doing some complex analysis of chewing gum. John allowed himself a moment of depression at the knowledge that their kitchen would never again be as clean or as practical as it currently was and that by tomorrow he would be picking entrails out of the fruit-bowl.

His only worry had been Sherlock's words before he'd left. John had expected whispered words of advice (or – let's face it – whispered orders) from Sherlock – especially as he know knew their life stories. Instead Sherlock looked distracted, and (in a moment away from the cameras John had managed to escape from) John had asked what was wrong.

"Hmm? Oh, I'm sure it's nothing."

"What?" demanded John.

"Just something I can't put my finger on," said Sherlock absently. His eyes were fixed into the distance as his brain whirred away at whatever problem it was.

"It is something to do with the guests?"

Sherlock looked annoyed. "Yes. But until I have more data I can't be sure."

What Sherlock meant by more data John had no idea of, but he offered to let Sherlock speak to them again.

"Why would I need to that?" asked Sherlock baffled. "I know everything I need to know about them."

"So what data do you need?" said John, who was trying to keep thoughts of a burning meringue out of his mind.

"That's the problem, until it happens I don't know." He straightened his jacket, and then caught John's shoulder before he went back inside. "John, promise me you'll stay in front of the cameras for the rest of the night."

John frowned, but nodded. "OK."

"Good," said Sherlock. His mind was still clearly on the problem and John had to ask him to remove his hand to let him go back to cooking.

* * *

It was probably just Lolli that had rattled Sherlock, John rationalised. He would no doubt have figured out that Lolli already knew John and this would have worried him. Still, he had lived with Sherlock too long to be entirely confident that that was the solution – even if Sherlock had guessed a connection, why would he be worried about John being away from the cameras?

He was delayed in serving up by Morgan, who asked him how he thought it was going, to get a response for the camera.

"Oh good," he said absently. She gestured for him to answer more completely. "Yeah it's going good. Sherlock – the, um, entertainment – was good-great. And dessert is nearly done."

"About that," said Morgan, "we need another ten minutes or so. Petra is still interviewing the contestants about dinner and Sarah and Danny have both gone downstairs to light up."

John nodded, "Er, yeah, that's fine."

"Cool," said Morgan. "I'll just use your bathroom."

She left to use it with the confidence of someone who spends their lives invading people's homes, and John was so wrapped up on preventing his dessert falling apart from the wait that he quite forgot about Sherlock's worries.

Jordan arrived back from his interview, followed shortly by Danny who had returned from his smoking. Lolli had been in the living room since her interview was finished and Sarah had been called up to hers after Jordan.

Finally Sarah returned with Petra and the second camera and John asked if he could serve up now. It was now twenty minutes since John had been asked to stall dessert.

"In a sec," said Petra looking thoroughly bored after what John imagined was a detailed breakdown of his inability as a chef. "Where's Morgan?"

John shrugged. "She went to the bathroom a while ago," he said. "Haven't seen her since. I thought she'd gone for a smoke."

Petra gave the first look of genuine concern John had seen from her. "She doesn't smoke."

"She wasn't downstairs when I was down there," said Sarah.

"I'll go check the bathroom for her," said Petra, "if she's not there we'll have to carry on without her."

She left, and John couldn't help but feeling some of the concern he'd felt before Sherlock had gone downstairs. None of the others looked especially worried, if anything they were impatient for the food he wasn't allowed to serve yet.

"I saw your fella downstairs," said Sarah brightly. "He was acting very oddly."

This caught John's attention. "That's nothing new," he said mildly (long having gotten used to Sherlock being referred to as such). "What was he doing?"

Sarah laughed. "He was moving around the ground floor staring up at the ceiling. When I said hello he actually told me to be quiet. Then he darted off into another room as if following a noise."

John was rattled by this information. If Sherlock had given up on his plan for dinner party success by being obnoxious to guests, that meant something more interesting had caught his attention, and whatever it was it was happening here. He had little time to worry further though; because Petra had arrived back looking worried.

"I tried the bathroom door, but I can't open it. I think Morgan's collapsed in there. I tried her mobile and I could hear it ringing inside, but there wasn't an answer."

John stood and hurried towards the bathroom. Sarah, Danny and the cameramen (not wanting to miss a scene) were hot on his heels, and it took the three of them to push the door open enough for John to look inside.

What he saw made him reel backwards in shock. He had seen some terrible things in the army, and several more in his adventures with Sherlock, but none of them had happened in his bathroom, televised, The bathroom was covered in blood. It had sprayed across the wall, splattered the pictures and window, and even reached the ceiling. John knew from the amount of blood alone that he would be unable to do much for the blonde girl slumped behind the door.

* * *

A closer examination told him what he had guess, the girl had had her throat slashed open from behind. The knife that had done it would have been long and very sharp – something much more deadly than a kitchen knife.

"Could it have been suicide?" asked Sarah. She was still at the bathroom door and though she looked shocked, she had a cool head on her shoulders.

"No. It would be near impossible to do that to yourself," he said. "Even if you really wanted to. And there's no knife. Someone killed her."

Danny leaned against the wall. "One of the camera crew? It can't have been us, we didn't know her."

John was just about to bark out orders for the police to be called, and Sherlock to be summoned from downstairs, when he heard sirens from outside.

"That was quick," he said.

Sarah frowned, "I don't think anyone's called them yet."

John stepped over the body and moved out onto the landing. As he had almost suspected Sherlock was standing there with Lestrade and several uniformed officers.

Sherlock pointed at Jordan. "Arrest that man for the murder of Morgan Dwight!"

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One more chapter to go!


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: **Come Dine With Sherlock and John

**Summary: **Based on a prompt to have John as a contestant on the Channel 4 show Come Dine With Me. Chaos ensues.  
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****Warnings:** Crack (but plot-filled crack).

**Parings: **Hinted Sherlock/John. But you can ignore it if you want.

**Disclaimer: **I own neither show.  
**  
****A/N:** This is it – the very last chapter!

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What happened over the next two hours involved mainly the practical work that needed doing upon finding a dead body in your flat while being involved in a TV cookery programme. Police swamped the crime scene (John, who had difficulty changing in the cupboard-sized bathroom, wondered how four crime-scene officials were managing to work in there).

Petra stalked about with a phone to her ear in serious conversation with her bosses. It went without saying that these episodes would need to be cancelled, and she would have a lot of work to do coping with media interest and the threat of the show being cancelled by a TV station nervous of scandal. She also kept glaring across as Sarah for some reason, which john suspected was to do with the brief conversation Petra had had with Sherlock.

John had been interviewed by Donovan, who looked increasingly incredulous and amused by his story (until the death part at least.) John wasn't sure whether Sherlock signing him up, Sherlock pretending they were a couple, or just the idea of John on Come Dine With Me that she liked the best.

Jordan had been taken away by Lestrade, though why he was the chief suspect John had no idea.

Sherlock was being infuriatingly relaxed about the whole business. He was stretched out on the sofa looking incredibly bored by the whole affair. He had scooped the uneaten dessert into a bowl and was eating it thoughtfully. John walked over to him and sat on the arm of the couch.

"How long do you think they'll be?" Sherlock asked. "Having your flat turned into a crime scene is very tedious."

"I thought you'd be in your element," yawned John. "A murder so close to home."

Sherlock looked incredulous. "If it was in any way complex it would be interesting, but it was a petty, dreadfully boring murder. The idea of it being an Agatha Christie like murder with a host of suspects is ludicrous – to anyone with eyes there could only have been one possible murderer. The only interest the case had for me was in figuring out who the victim would be, and if the murder would happen tonight."

John looked shocked. "You planned this? You knew there would be a murder? Is that why you signed me up for this charade?"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Sherlock. "I had no idea at all until I met the contestants. Then I knew there would be a murder."

"And you didn't think to stop it?" said John.

Sherlock huffed. "I told you, I didn't know when it would happen. I tracked the groups footsteps from downstairs, and it wasn't until I heard you all walking towards the bathroom that I knew it had happened and called Lestrade."

Petra stalked past, still on the phone. John heard her snap something about a 'breach of contract' with a glare at Sarah.

"Sarah is going to have some difficult explaining to do," said Sherlock with amusement. "At least, her bosses will."

"Her bosses?" John stared over at a tired looking Sarah. "She's a vet isn't she?"

Sherlock huffed. "Really John, it took less than a second for me to see through that lie. A vet who has no pets of her own? And who bears no traces of her career? That- combined with her designer handbag and yet consciously dowdy clothes- suggests she's a reporter of some kind. Presumably doing an article on how the show is made. Petra was not pleased when I told her."

John rubbed his eyes. The early rise, and generally chaos of the day had tired him out. "C'mon Sherlock," he sighed, "explain. What happened here tonight?"

"Isn't it obvious?" asked Sherlock, wide-eyed.

"Not to me."

Sherlock looked a little smug at this chance to show off his intellect. "It's very simple. Did you note Jordan's tattoos? The ones on his pectoral muscles?"

John nodded. Jordan's low vest-top had shown off enough skin that they were hard to miss. "Yeah."

"Prison tattoos," said Sherlock. "To get those in particular you'd have to have spent time for a serious attack of some sort. I'm guessing in his teens. Looking at the way he holds himself I'd guess he can't have been out more than two years."

John started. "He's a convict? Why is he on this show?" He thought about what he'd seen of Jordan and he could think of nothing to suggest he'd been a convict of any sort. Jordan had seemed like the sort of person who would apply for Big Brother and fantasise about being in Hello! magazine.

"The way he dressed and acted around the cameras suggested a desperate desire for fame and acknowledgement. He's a model - not a singer, or an actor, and being a former convict not many reality shows would have let him participate. How many famous male models are there? This programme would have been his only chance to gain notoriety and being used to violence he wouldn't have hesitated to use it."

"But killing someone on television?" John burst out. "It's insane! He would have been famous for about thirty seconds before getting arrested."

"Oh he didn't plan to get caught," said Sherlock. "Though frankly his plan was so risky and pathetic that he would have been caught; even without my presence. It just would have taken them a few days to figure it out."

Sherlock had clearly had enough of the dessert and handed the spoon and half-eaten bowl over to John. John picked at the remains absently.

"I knew the second I saw him he was merely waiting for an opportunity to kill. He was waiting for a time where he could kill quietly and without the body being detected for long enough for him to have rejoined the group without suspicion. I think he wanted to wait until the end of the week – when there would have been resentment between the contestants – but the opportunity tonight was too good. He can't have expected to find a set of knives in the bedroom that no one would miss until after a murder. I regret leaving them out now."

A crime scene worker passed with a bag of evidence, causing Sherlock to sit up sharply. "Oi! That's my skull! It's not evidence – put it back!"

John was still reeling. "So he what, was laying in wait?"

Sherlock leaned back again, the skull forgotten. "He probably couldn't believe his luck when there was a delay in filming. When he came out of his interview he saw Morgan enter the bathroom and realised that here was his chance. It didn't matter who he killed, as far as he was concerned. He was away from the cameras, and feasibly anyone but you and Sarah (who was being interviewed still) could have come upstairs to commit the murder. He rushed into our bedroom-"

"My bedroom," said John hastily.

"-The bedroom, picked up the knife that he and Lolli had both held, took off his shirt to prevent staining it, and then burst into the bathroom and attacked her. He was bigger than her, stronger, and had the element of surprise. She didn't have time to scream. Then in a matter of seconds he rinsed the blade, wiped any splashes off himself, and went back into the bedroom where he put the shirt back on and replaced the knife. Pity he was too rushed to wipe the handle."

"He left fingerprints?"

"He was rushed and probably forgot. It was idiotic though, because there were only two fingerprints on the handle from when he and Lolli had looked at it. I checked the footage while you were being interviewed by Donovan and from there it was easy to figure out which knife it was. It couldn't have been Lolli – she was in the living room the entire time with you and a camera crew. Besides which, he didn't know I was downstairs listening for the sound of someone going into our bedroom. Lolli's heels would have been childishly simple to discern, but it was a man's step. Besides which, he dress would have been far more difficult to prevent from getting ruined by blood."

Story finished, he put his arms under his head. "Really, I wish it had been more interesting. Still, I'm sure that you, Lolli, and Danny will each get a nice lot of compensation from Channel 4, far more than you could have won."

John shook his head in amazement at his friend. "Amazing," he said. "And thank you."

Sherlock frowned. "What for?"

"You said it didn't matter who he killed," said John. "You thought it could be me, that's why you warned me to stay with the cameras."

"Well obviously," said Sherlock. "Who else would tell me when I'm right about Strictly Come Dancing evictions?"

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THE END (HURRAH!)

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**A/N:** So, it was a bit of a slog but immense fun. Let me know what you think.

Also I've left you to decide whether Sherlock moves back into his own bedroom or not. I know what I'd like to believe...


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